


Deputy Hot-Damn

by peroxideshots



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eating fruit erotically, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Stilinski Family Feels, i dunno sort of stiles whump i guess lol, i guess, i just couldn't help myself I'm sorry, kind of?, sighs maybe I should tag it crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peroxideshots/pseuds/peroxideshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles meets Deputy Parrish for the first time and turns into a twelve-year-old girl with a crush, much to his disappointment (not to mention his father's).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Who’s the, uh, new deputy?” Stiles asked nonchalantly. He leant his body against the counter his father sat behind and turned his attention to the window, where outside the new officer was parking his car beside the station. Stiles jerked his chin up slightly in an awkward greeting to the unfamiliar face, before deciding there was no way the man would see his kind gesture from so far away and turning his suave hair-smooth into an enthusiastic wave. He vaguely heard his dad sigh from behind him, but he was too distracted watching Deputy-Hot-Damn swagger his way across the parking lot.

“Parrish,” his father told him, and Stiles pulled a face – ‘Parrish’ sort of reminded him of The Crucible from English class, and therefore by association witch trials, and supernatural beings weren’t exactly on his priority list of things to be reminded of. The man got nearer, and Stiles saw that he had short blonde hair and a pair of Ray-Bans on, Captain-America-meets-Top-Gun style, and yeah – Stiles could probably manage to get over the weird religious connotations behind a name like ‘Parrish’ when he rocked that uniform so well.

Stiles swallowed when he realised he was staring, and turned his back to the window to busy his hands with straightening a pile of already tidy leaflets. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, and after a moment he stared back indignantly. “What?” he exclaimed, the question sounding more like an accusation as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
The Sheriff just sighed again, mirroring Stiles’ raised eyebrows and ignoring his son’s outburst.

When Stiles heard the door open, he turned and smiled - deftly knocking the leaflets with his elbow in the process, and he heard them clutter onto the desk behind him. His dad’s accompanying huff only made him smile wider; but it took Stiles’ moving a few steps towards the new guy for him to realise that nothing could have prepared him for Parrish taking off his sunglasses.

“Sir,” Parrish greeted Stiles’ dad, nodding politely over Stiles’ shoulder. He unzipped his jacket and Stiles had to forcibly remind himself to breathe and that it’s rude to stare, Stiles, god.

John sent his son an uneasy look as he came out from behind the reception desk to shake Parrish’s hand. “This is my son, Stiles,” he added after a moment, gesturing without turning, and Stiles could just imagine the apologetic expression his father was wearing.

“Hey,” Stiles said, too loud, lifting a hand in an unnecessary wave. Deputy Parrish’s eyes were shockingly green and so clear they looked nearly translucent, like the sun shining through the herbal tea Lydia drank every morning before class. Parrish’s face lit up when he smiled, cheeks dimpling as though he was trying not to laugh, and Stiles fell in love instantly.

The Sheriff turned, took one glance at the look on his son’s face, and groaned.


	2. Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a not-too-excruciating first encounter with Deputy Parrish, of course Stiles would have to ruin it all with the second.

It was a week before Stiles and Deputy Parrish crossed paths again. 

Well – it had been a week since Sheriff Stilinski had whisked the new face away from Stiles’ immediate vicinity with a loud laugh and an accusatory glare over his shoulder. Stiles had just waved again and watched him leave with a dopey smile. Despite the unfortunate encounter with the pile of leaflets (which had taken Stiles ages to tidy up), all in all, Stiles considered it a reasonably successful first impression. He didn’t open his mouth, which meant that it was certainly better than it could have been.

Stiles had managed to find more and more reasons to hang out in the Sheriff’s Department, none of which proved fruitful. His excuses ranged from the honest and believable, (‘Dad forgot his lunch again,’ and ‘Yeah, I left my maths homework here last night, what a dope’) to the downright ridiculous; ‘seriously, dad; there was a squirrel in the road and I had to swerve out of the way! My brain didn’t even process which road I’d turned down until I was in the parking lot. So, yeah, since fate brought me here I figured I’d drop by and say hi!’

Needless to say, even the honest and believable were neither honest nor believable in the presence of his father. Stiles figured his dad had had far too much practice in the art of cutting Stiles’ crap.

“Dad, I swear to God. What kind of father doesn’t believe his own son in a time like this? I nearly killed an innocent woodland creature!” Stiles voice rose slightly, arms waving. He glanced all around the room, hoping to be discrete in his search for Deputy Parrish, but he faltered when his dad caught sight of him. 

“Did you,” Stiles added after a moment, “did you redecorate?” He vaguely gestured at a framed picture of the police team hanging on the wall behind his dad, one that had been there ever since Stiles was little and definitely wasn’t new. Stiles, not for the first time that day, gave an internal sigh at his inability to function like a regular person.

Sheriff Stilinski looked about ready to take the gun from his holster and shoot it at his own head, and since Stiles didn’t catch sight of Deputy Parrish in his scan of the office, he decided to quit while he was (reasonably) ahead. 

“See you, dad,” Stiles had called jovially over his shoulder, sending a quick salute to the rest of the team who were sitting in the other side of office and snickering behind their hands.

So, yeah. His many attempts at meeting Deputy Parish again were not successful. Or they weren’t successful until Stiles stopped actively trying. Stiles figured that should probably be his approach in life from now on, since the majority of things he’d ever wanted usually just came to him when he stopped making such an effort.

It was late on a Thursday afternoon that it finally happened, and Stiles was sweaty from lacrosse and tired in a way that ran deeper than just a few late nights and a rough lacrosse practice. He felt like he hadn’t slept for more than five hours a night in days; his bones ached from exhaustion, and he had a tension-headache behind both of his eyes that got worse with every bump in the road he drove his Jeep over. Stiles tightened his grip on the steering wheel and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady and his eyelids open.  
The drive home from school passed the Police Department, anyway. Stiles decided after five minutes of the drive from hell that there was no way he was going to get home without having either a stress-induced panic attack or becoming a statistic about falling asleep at the wheel – neither of which, he imaged, would have a good result. 

Stiles parked his Jeep across two spaces in the parking lot, not bothering to straighten up at the late hour. It was usually just his father and two other deputies on duty in the evenings, and the lot was practically empty. Stiles buried his face in his hands and took a few shaky breaths when he turned the engine off, before scrubbing at his tired eyes and blinking up at his blurry reflection in the rear-view mirror. He looked like shit, and didn’t feel much better. He half-heartedly ran a hand through his slightly greasy hair as he got out of the car and pulled his tired limbs across the parking lot.

Stiles didn’t exactly focus on whoever was behind the reception desk when he entered – couldn’t bring his eyes to focus, or force his brain to think about another thing, especially since it was having more than enough trouble making Stiles put one foot in front of the other and breathe at the same time.

No, Stiles didn’t even process that there was a person sitting at the reception desk until he found himself slumped across it and ended up with a face-full of Deputy Parrish’s sea foam eyes. Stiles just stared, eyes wide in shock, upper body frozen where it was sprawled across the desk in a kind of parody of a sleeping position.

“Hi,” Deputy Parrish greeted him in surprised voice, wondering just how Stiles had managed to get their faces so close with a whole desk in the way.

Stiles jumped up after a moment of delay, arms flailing and knees buckling underneath him for a moment before he grabbed hold of the reception desk for support. “Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, holding his chest with both hands as though that would stop the hummingbird his heart had become from flying out of his chest. “Could’ve given me some warning, man,” he stammered out. Stiles was suddenly glad that his vision was swimming a little, because then he could at least pretend that it was somebody, anybody other than Deputy Parish looking at him as though he was about to drop dead.

There was a chuckle from behind the reception desk. “Hi, Stiles,” Deputy Parrish replied in an open, calming voice. Stiles sighed and rested his elbows on the top of the counter, practically hanging off it. 

Why, why did it have to be Deputy Parrish? Why did Stiles have to be in such a mess on the one day the deputy was actually in? He closed his eyes and hummed non-committally, knowing if he opened his mouth he would talk and that would only make the whole situation worse. He figured his dad would come out of his office soon and drag him home, so he wouldn’t have to wait for too long before he had his heart-attack.

Stiles had learned over a week of discretely digging for information from his dad’s colleagues that Deputy Parrish was 24, had a degree in Psychology as well as Law Enforcement, and ate a banana every break he got, without fail. Stiles fixed his eyes over Deputy Parrish’s shoulder in what he hoped looked like a calm, normal thing to do. “Where’s my dad?” he asked after a moment.

There wasn’t a response, just the sound of a desk chair being wheeled and warm, strong hands on his shoulders. Stiles jumped and struggled for only a moment, before he just let himself be manhandled away from the reception counter and into the chair, which had suddenly appeared behind him. He relaxed into it with a sigh and looked at Deputy Parrish properly. He didn’t want to seem any more pathetic and weird than he already did, so he sat up as straight as he could and smiled with his teeth, hoping it didn’t look too forced.

“You’re pretty tired, aren’t you?” Deputy Parrish asked him. "Your dad will be out in a second." Stiles couldn’t help but notice there was no judgement at all in the man’s voice, which surprised him. 

Stiles rubbed at his eyes and smiled weakly over at the deputy, who had found another chair from somewhere and was sitting across from him with an indescribable expression. Yep – definitely a psychology degree. His eyes were still just as piercing even in the fluorescent light of the desk lamp. 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck with a hand and shrugged. “School work, lacrosse; you know how it is,” he said lamely, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. ‘Human sacrifices, werewolves, werefoxes, sexual identity crises; you know how it is,’ his brain supplied helpfully, and Stiles chuckled.

Deputy Parrish was nodding in silence, still just watching Stiles with those crazy-pretty eyes. After a moment, Stiles looked away. It felt too intense, too personal; as though the man was staring right into his brain and trying to soothe out the kinks, to calm the waves of panic and exhaustion. Stiles knew it was impossible to do that just from a look, but strangely enough, after just a few moments of sitting with Deputy Parrish, Stiles felt calmer and more relaxed than he had in days.

Stiles realised he’d all but fallen asleep with his eyes open, and was embarrassed to find that Parrish had actually said something while Stiles had been busy admiring the view. “Sorry, what?” Stiles asked, face growing hot from awkwardness. 

Deputy smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners – he looked even younger when he smiled, Stiles realised – and spoke again. “I just said that you look exhausted. You shouldn’t let yourself get worn to the ground. Your dad does it too. Give yourself a break every now and again.”

Stiles almost raised his eyebrows at the tone of certainty Deputy Parish had in making judgements about his dad, since he’d only known him a week. But then he realised that, yeah, what he said was pretty true. Psych degree, Stiles thought with a strange sense of fondness.

Stiles just nodded in response, and when the silence between them dragged on for too long, it started to get awkward; which, of course, meant Stiles had to fill it.

“This is really embarrassing, actually,” Stiles said, tangling his fingers together in his lap and staring at them like they were the most interesting things in the world. “You obviously think I’m just a stupid little kid who can’t even stand vertically for more than about three minutes at a time – which isn’t true, by the way – and then you swoop in with your stupid pretty eyes -” Stiles babbled, breaking off suddenly and flushing scarlet. “I mean, uh –“ Stiles began, but there was nothing he could say to salvage his dignity, so he just muttered, “oh my god,” under his breath and prayed that the ground would swallow him up whole.

Deputy Parrish’s laugh sounded like it was bubbling out of his chest uncontrollably, almost like a giggle. Stiles thought it should be made illegal for cute guys with pretty green eyes to giggle like that. He also thought it should be illegal for him to open his mouth, but he’d made that call countless times before, and it hadn’t saved him from any mortifying situations yet.

Deputy Parrish shook his head as he laughed. He glanced over his shoulder slightly when the door to the Sheriff’s office opened to reveal Stiles’ dad and he stood up, before looking back to Stiles. “Just take it easy, okay? For me?” He touched his hand soothingly to Stiles' shoulder as he passed, and Stiles looked down to his shirt, fully expecting there to be scorch-marks where the contact had been.

Stiles so nearly replied with, ‘anything for you,’ but his dad was looking at him with a concerned expression and Stiles figured now wasn’t the time to use his smooth moves to redeem himself. On another day when, he didn’t feel like passing out, or if it were anybody other than Deputy Dreamy-eyes, Stiles could probably have been able to bring it back with a few winks and some other smartass lines, but he wasn’t on top form.

He flashed a smile and mouthed, ‘thanks,’ over his shoulder to Deputy Parrish as his father half-dragged him out to the station car. His dad checked him over suspiciously before starting the engine, but seemed more concerned with his son’s dishevelled appearance than his debilitating crush on his co-worker, which Stiles was eternally grateful for. 

“Hey, dad? Do you think if I asked Deputy Parrish really nicely he would record himself talking? Maybe just reading the dictionary or something. He just has the most relaxing voice ever. I would buy that CD. Audiobooks read by Deputy Parrish.”

“Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski said after a moment in a tired voice but Stiles swore he could hear a hint of restrained laughter; “Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE STILISH
> 
> I CAN'T WITH THIS STUPID SHIP IT ISN'T EVEN REAL THEY'VE NEVER EVEN MET SOMEONE HOLD ME
> 
> yeah i was so happy with the response to the first part that i decided to carry it on, hope you enjoyed!


	3. Homoerotic Staring Contests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets a taste of his own medicine in the form of Parrish's wicked sense of humour.

Stiles tipped back on two legs of his chair and rested his hands behind his head. It was a precarious position, but risks had to be taken in order to casually check out Deputy Parrish’s ass. The man was settling down at the reception desk, and had foolishly dropped his pen between the wooden table and the wall. Easy mistake to make. Stiles did it himself on a regular basis. Only, Stiles couldn’t help thinking that Parrish could probably dismantle a bomb blindfolded with one hand (or something equally impressive), so there was no way the man should be that clumsy with his stationery. No, it was more likely that he was trying to catch Stiles’ attention. Obviously. That made sense.

Stiles had outgrown his short-lived phase of finding excuses to turn up at the Police Department in order to see his favourite deputy; his previous encounter had caused enough embarrassment to last him out for at least 6 months. But that still didn’t stop Stiles from jumping at the offer to spend a Saturday with his dad, helping to sort out the filing cabinets, which was why he found himself up at the butt-crack of dawn and with a perfect view to objectify the new deputy. It was paid work, obviously – Stiles’ everlasting attention-span didn’t come cheap.

“Stiles,” his father had said, approaching Stiles with his proposition after dinner the night before as Stiles sat frowning at his Chemistry homework. “I’ll give you twenty-five dollars to come with me to the office this weekend and held me tidy up the place.”

Stiles pulled a doubtful expression and casted a glance down at the table he was working at, where it looked as though a bomb had gone off inside his bag – papers strewn everywhere, books upturned and pencils littering the surface like debris. Personally, Stiles couldn’t think of anything worse than spending a day in the sheriff’s office cleaning, but his dad certainly wouldn’t have asked his notoriously untidy son unless he was desperate. He had just started to nod, when the thought suddenly hit him – Deputy Parrish worked Saturdays.

His automatic delight at the thought must have shown on Stiles’ face, because his father made an exasperated sound and clicked his tongue a little. “I’ll make it thirty if you promise not to bother Deputy Parrish,” the sheriff added after a moment. He had a long-suffering look on his face, and for a moment Stiles felt bad. It wasn’t his fault Parrish had a voice like an angel and the prettiest eyes in Beacon Hills. If his dad had to get mad at anybody, surely it was fairer to blame Parrish.

Stiles made a scoffing sound and waved a dismissive hand at his dad. “I’m not a _bother_ ,” Stiles said, voice thick with mock-horror. “Everyone in your office _loves_ me,” he insisted. It was true – over the years he had managed to charm all of his father’s colleagues. All but one, so far, and that was a work in progress.

Stiles turned back to his homework with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t possibly accept your bribery and deprive Parrish of my presence. That would be practically sacrificing myself upon the altar of integrity.” Stiles had twirled his pen around his fingers easily and smirked up at his father, eyebrows raised as though accepting a challenge of some unspoken sort.

But after about half an hour on Saturday, Stiles was beginning to doubt his initial enthusiasm and courage. After all, the last conversation he’d had with Parrish had been a while ago, and the whole time he’d been trying not to fall asleep. Stiles still wasn’t exactly sure of what the conversation had been about – Stiles had a horrible thought that he may have asked Deputy Parrish if he was an angel, maybe even gone as far as using some terrible pickup line about falling from heaven. He really, really hoped that was just part of some exhaustion-induced delusion and not a real-life memory.

Still, it made Stiles feel awkward to be around Parrish. He spent most of the morning watching Parrish from behind the glass window dividing his father’s office with the reception area and trying not to give himself any puncture-wounds with the stapler. Every time the phone rang, Parrish would swivel around in his desk chair and Stiles would have to become suddenly immersed in dusting a folder, or stacking some books, or some other task of soporific triviality. It was strangely exhausting, and jump-started Stiles’ adrenaline in a way he hadn’t felt since he’d stopped trying to hide his crush on Lydia in about the fourth grade.

By the time Stiles’ dad told him to take a lunch break, his hands were littered with paper cuts and his back ached a little from bending and lifting huge boxes of files to and from the storeroom. Stiles didn’t exactly feel as though he was doing much good – the room seemed like more of a mess than it had when they’d started, but he’d done everything he was asked to do and even managed to keep quiet while doing it, at least for most of the time.

Just before he left the room, Stiles stopped. He clapped his hands together awkwardly and turned back to his father. “So, Parrish – does he have a first name? Or is his first name really ‘Deputy’?” Stiles chuckled rather obnoxiously at his joke and looked at his dad expectantly, but when the sheriff’s only response was an over-the-top restacking of some paperwork, Stiles’ laugh trickled away into a cough. He tugged at the collar of his hoodie, pulling it back up onto his shoulder from where it had slipped, and angry-mumbled his way out of the room. He would have to find out himself, then. Fine. Stiles could do that.

Stiles tried to plaster on a natural smile as he made his way over to the reception desk. Parrish was on the phone, jotting something on a piece of paper with surprisingly messy handwriting. There was a spare chair a few feet away from Parrish, and Stiles was crippled with indecision for a moment over whether to sit down or to lean against the counter. He decided to sit down at the last moment, and there was a horrific screech of metal on linoleum as the chair jolted under his sudden force of his body being catapulted into it.

“Sorry,” Stiles winced, pulling a face as Parrish put the phone down. He rested his elbow on the desk casually and flashed an enthusiastic smile over at Parrish. “Hello,” he said, dragging out the syllables and drumming his fingers on the desk.

Parrish mirrored Stiles’ smile politely. “Hi,” he greeted, and Stiles could tell that he was a little confused at the random fascination he was receiving from the sheriff’s son.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, and just as Stiles was about to open his mouth to say something, Parrish pushed a little bag of dried fruit across the desk and raised his eyebrows in offer. “Apricot?” He asked, crinkling the bag to get Stiles’ attention.

Stiles stared in surprise, torn between looking at the bag of fruit and Parrish’s sparkling green eyes. “Okay,” he accepted doubtfully, reaching over to take a few pieces out of the bag. He couldn’t help noticing Parrish nod in approval as he put them in his mouth, and Stiles snickered around his mouthful.

The apricot was disgusting, as Stiles had expected. He sort of thought it tasted like dried puke, and looked around the desk as though searching for something to could discretely spit it into, until he noticed Parrish watching him form the corner of his eye.

He gave Parrish a thumbs up and made an ‘mmm’ing noise as he swallowed, wincing against the bitter aftertaste, and it wasn’t until he’d washed it down with enough spit to take the acidity away that he caught sight of the twinkle in Parrish’s eye. Stiles was surprised to realise the deputy was laughing at him, but he couldn’t help snorting too. Parrish was funny, and borderline weird, he thought gleefully, not sure what to make of him.

“So, what – are you one of those weird health nuts?” Stiles asked, gesturing towards the bag and the Tupperware container behind it, which Stiles guessed held his lunch. He tried not to dwell over how adorable it was that Parrish brought his lunch to work in a freakin’ Tupperware container.

Parrish swivelled round to face Stiles and nodded earnestly. “Yes. I take my health very seriously.” As though to make his point, Parrish reached over to unpeel a banana and take a bite slowly, eyes not leaving Stiles’ face. Okay – the dude was definitely messing with Stiles now, he couldn’t deny. Stiles felt his face flush and he willed himself not to look away and lose whatever mind-game Parrish was playing, but he had to after a moment. His face was hot and, okay, Stiles didn’t expect this sort of shocking behaviour from such a straight-edge looking guy like Parrish. It was kind of the best thing that had ever happened to him.

The silence between them wasn’t really awkward, which was sort of surprising. It was strange, because Stiles felt like they had similar senses of humour, and that rarely ever happened with Stiles. He couldn’t help feeling as though he was being set up. Stiles burst into laughter when he risked a glance over at Parrish, only to find him still staring at Stiles with an almost mocking expression on and still eating that fucking banana.

“Okay, okay –“ Stiles exploded suddenly, raising his palms in defeat. “Point taken; I’ll stop perving on the new dep,” he said, still laughing a little bit. It wasn’t often that Stiles was played by his own game, and he was thoroughly impressed. Stiles tipped back in his chair and propped himself up on the two back legs, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than he would have expected, considering only a few seconds ago the most attractive man Stiles had ever encountered had been sucking on a banana and having some sort of homoerotic staring contest with him.

Parrish threw the banana skin into the bin and smiled teasingly at Stiles. “That’s okay, Stiles. I think it’s cute,” he said, smiling with his dimples and crossing his arms across his chest. “It definitely makes working here more entertaining when I know you’re only ever about two feet away, staring at me from behind a book or something.” Parrish punctuated the statement with a barely-there wink, so small that Stiles honestly didn’t know whether he’d imagined it.

Stiles flushed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you only have yourself to blame for being…“ He trailed off and gestured at Parrish’s general existence with a theatrical sigh. Okay, so Parrish was definitely different from how he had expected. Maybe it was because he knew Stiles didn’t feel as though he was about to fall asleep on him - or maybe his dad had given Parrish some sort of warning. Either way, Stiles was surprised, but it was definitely a good surprise. He still had his crazy-relaxing voice, and a weird calming air about him – if Stiles had to pick anyone to come to his rescue during a crime, he would definitely pick Parrish – but his comforting presence was coupled with a wicked sense of humour that Stiles felt infinitely drawn to.

They chuckled at each other for a little longer, before Parrish leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his knuckles. He looked over at Stiles from under his eyelashes and Stiles literally felt his heart skip a beat. “You know it’s sort of inappropriate though, right?” Parrish asked, and Stiles wanted to raise his voice and tell Parrish that everything about him was inappropriate, from his stupid tight uniform to his stupid fucking lunch habits but instead Stiles’ breath caught in his throat and he just found himself nodding along.

Stiles’ heart was fluttering in his ribcage and his head was spinning as Parrish suddenly sat back in his chair. He could only watch as Parrish collected his lunch and stood up, and it was all he could do not to fall back in his chair and smash his head open on the floor as Parrish patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner, before walking past him and out of the door, which shut with a clatter and left Stiles in complete silence.

“What,” Stiles mumbled under his breath, “the holy crap.” He watched Deputy Parish cross the parking lot to his car with his mouth hanging open. He let out an actual full-blown gasp when the deputy turned, halfway across the lot, and waved cheerfully back at Stiles. His teeth glinted in the sunlight, and Stiles stopped breathing for a whole three seconds.

Ten minutes later, the sheriff emerged from his office and caught sight of Stiles, still frozen in his chair and staring out at where Parrish’s car had been. There was a moment of stillness, the air thick with tension between them, before John started laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

“Jesus, son. Your face. That was well worth the twenty-five bucks,” Sheriff Stilinski said. He chuckled again before heading back into his office, pausing a few times on the way to turn and laugh as though he just couldn’t help himself.

Stiles’ jaw fell open and his eyes darted between the closed door to his father’s office and the parking lot. “No, seriously,” Stiles said to the empty room; “what the fuck?”

From the sheriff’s office, Stiles heard his father dissolve into hysterical laughter all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally do not know where this came from but i am laughing so so hard
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!! jesus, i so hope we see more of parrish and find out he's a actually sneaky little shit, i really do. omg
> 
> also, is parrish just a flirty tease, or does he have some kind of deal with papa stilinski? you decide :o
> 
> (i love everyone who has kudos'd or commented on this, i am so happy ^^ thank you all!)


	4. The Difference Between 'Whiskey' and 'Whisky'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Parrish is tipsy and Stiles acquires 'issues.'

“Dude, I swear to god; it was honestly as bad as I’m making it sound.” Stiles shook his head with embarrassment, trying to hide his flushed cheeks from Scott’s curious gaze as he told the story of his incident with Deputy Parrish, the pair of them leaning against Stiles’ Jeep after a gruelling lacrosse practice. “He was sitting in his adorable swivel-chair, just staring at me with his ridiculous Disney Princess eyes and eating a _banana_. Riddle me this, Scott – is tongue required to eat a banana? No! And yet –“ Stiles broke off and leaned forward, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “He totally was. I mean, that’s a phallic symbol. Right? The mother of all phallic symbols. It’s got to mean something. He was practically eye-fucking me!”

Stiles was slightly breathless after his rant, and Scott just crossed his arms and stared at him sceptically, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. There was a moment of silence before he replied. “That is pretty weird. But he works with your dad, Stiles – isn’t it sort of messed up that you’re flirting with him?” He fumbled with his bag, trying to get his bike helmet out without dropping all his stuff on the floor, and Stiles was infuriated by his best friend’s lack of attention. This was _serious shit_.

“Scott,” Stiles said, stepping nearer and resting his hand on Scott’s shoulder with an easy smile to hide his frustration at always having to bring his friend’s concentration back to the topic at hand. “It wasn’t flirting. It was practically foreplay.” Scott winced at Stiles’ choice of words and pushed his friend’s hand away, but Stiles just sniggered and lowered his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “I’m telling you, Scotty. He wants me _so bad_.”

Scott spluttered out a laugh at the intensity in Stiles’ voice, before falling quiet and plastering on a serious face after a quelling glare from Stiles. “Right. He totally wants you. You should go for it!” Scott insisted, nodding determinedly and feeling relieved when Stiles smiled in approval at his response.

“I am so going to go for it,” Stiles said loudly, fist-pumping the air enthusiastically (and apologising at the random guy he nearly hit in the face in the process) before clapping Scott on the shoulder and walking round to the side of his car. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder with a wave, not bothering to wait for a reply before starting the engine.

For the whole drive home, Stiles was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and trying to come up with some kind of ingenious plan to casually run into Parrish again. He wanted something that would call Parrish out on the whole ‘flirty tease parading as an uptight deputy’ act he had going on, but at the same time it couldn’t leave Stiles looking like either; a) a prepubescent girl with an idol-crush on the cute new officer, or; b) a desperate slut trying to lure an attractive grown man into a jailbait relationship with the sheriff’s son. He wasn’t sure which was preferable in a worst case scenario – in fact, Stiles felt like he had pretty much described his entire approach to wooing Parrish perfectly.

After a few more minutes of driving, Stiles realised he had completely missed the turning he was supposed to take. Not only that, but he still hadn’t come up with a plan. He huffed and mounted the kerb a little as he did a sharp U-turn, deciding it would probably be best to wait until he got home before he gave his plan more thought since he didn’t want to, you know, die.

Stiles stumbled out of the Jeep and juggled with his bag and keys as he opened the front door. His dad’s car was in the driveway, as expected, but Stiles was still avoiding his father and his constant taunts about Stiles’ last encounter with Deputy Parrish, so he tried not to linger too long in the hallway before heading up the stairs.

“Son?” He heard his father call from the living room. Stiles bowed his head and felt immediately sorry for himself in a pre-emptive reaction to the insults he was more than likely about to receive. He tossed his bag up the stairs and sighed, before stomping back down to the living room. He could hear people laughing quietly, presumably from the TV.

“What’s up, Dad?” Stiles greeted as he came into the living room, clicking his shoulders and neck in an attempt to shake out the tension from lacrosse. He stretched his arms over his head and closed his eyes for a moment as he made his way into the living room, but he opened them again suddenly when he heard a cough that _definitely_ wasn’t from his dad.

The sheriff chuckled quietly from behind his hands, and beside him, smirking slightly, sat Deputy Parrish. Of _course_. He was just sitting behind the coffee table in an armchair with his chin propped up on his hand, and, hell, the top button of his shirt was undone to reveal a delicious stripe of collarbone. He raised his eyebrows a little, green eyes twinkling, and it was only _then_ that Stiles realised he still had his hands stretched above his head, and his too small t-shirt was probably pulling up over his stomach awkwardly. God _damn_.  ‘1 Parrish, 0 Stiles,’ Stiles thought miserably, before pulling his shirt down with flailing hands and plastering a smile on his face.

“Deputy Parrish!” Stiles greeted with a shocked voice, eyes darting between Parrish, his father and the open bottle that sat on the coffee table between them. “What is this? Some kind of officers-only party I wasn’t invited to?” Stiles snorted with awkward amusement and tried to get himself to _stop now, Stiles, seriously, you’re making it worse_ \- “When is the rest of the gang going to rock up? Should I, like, take cover? Before I get mowed down by a stripper in a sexy cop costume being wheeled around inside a giant cake?” Stiles let out a slightly manic sounding laugh, feeling his face flush, and he might _just_ have gotten away with the excuse that the joke had run away with him (it wouldn’t be the first time) if he hadn’t let his gaze linger a few too many seconds on Deputy Parrish’s tightly fitted shirt. _Fuck_.

Stiles watched Parrish bite down on his lip, but he couldn’t tell if it was to supress laughter or something else. Sheriff Stilinski certainly wasn’t laughing any more, but the impact of his stern expression was lessened somewhat by the half-empty glass in his hand. “ _Stiles_ ,” his dad said in a disapproving voice, pursing his lips at Parrish in a slightly drunken parody of his ‘sorry my son is harassing you,’ face.

Stiles rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and pointedly didn’t look at Parrish, not trusting himself to glance over even for the tiniest of seconds. “You know it’s only 5 o’clock,” Stiles said instead. He looked deliberately at the glass in his father’s hand and tried to convince himself that the last sixty seconds of his life hadn’t actually happened.

Sheriff Stilinski raised his eyebrows at his son and nodded slowly. “Deputy Parrish and I have both worked a hard day in law enforcement, so we decided we deserved a break,” he said warningly. There was a sharp edge to his voice, making it sound more like a threat, as though daring Stiles to argue with him.

“Okay,” Stiles replied on an exhale, dragging out the vowel sounds. He clapped his hands together and pointed his thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the door. “So, I should probably get going… You know; homework and stuff. Duty calls.”

“No,” Sheriff Stilinski said, before standing up and crossing the room to rest place his hands on Stiles’ shoulders. He leaned in and lowered his voice to talk to his son without the deputy overhearing – Parrish must have picked up on the message, because he started humming under his breath and inspecting the sleeve of his shirt, occasionally picking off imaginary pieces of lint. Stiles couldn’t help smiling fondly – he was cute _and_ tactful. At least, he was when he wanted to be.

Sheriff Stilinski had to pat Stiles on the cheek to draw his attention away from Parrish. “Listen. I’m going to make dinner. Keep Deputy Parrish company while – No, Stiles, not like that! Jesus.” Stiles rolled his eyes and made a ‘duh’ noise, but his face was flushing and he couldn’t deny that his mind had jumped to exactly the idea the sheriff was scolding him for – he was a teenage boy, for God’s sake, and he was still trying to figure just when, exactly, his entire _life_ had suddenly turned into the first five minutes of a gay porn film.

Stiles swallowed slowly and glanced over his dad’s shoulder at Parrish, who was stretching back in his chair. His shirt buttons protested at the strain across his obviously muscular chest, and it was all Stiles could do to focus his attention back to his father and nod as though listening intently. “Sure, yeah, no problem,” Stiles mumbled. He clapped his dad on the arm and brushed past him to sit down in the chair he’d vacated, stubbing his toe on the coffee table on the way.

“So,” Stiles said as he sat down across from Parrish. He vaguely heard his father snort as he left the room, but Stiles ignored it. “We meet again.”

The corner of Parrish’s mouth eased up in a half-smile – Stiles couldn’t decide if he was trying to be sexy or intimidating. The product, in Stiles’ opinion, was a combination of the two, and it reminded him a little of Lydia; apparently he had a type.

Parrish didn’t say anything, but he took another sip of whisky from his glass. Stiles cleared his throat and looked around the room for something to talk about. He resisted the urge to make the whooshing noise of a cartoon tumbleweed blowing past.

“Hey,” Stiles started suddenly as he sat up in his chair. “Did you know it’s only called whisky – as in, whisky without an ‘e’ – when it’s made in Scotland? Yeah. Scotch whisky. Fascinating, I know. Dad only really drinks the stuff from Ireland, and that has an ‘e’. Whiskey.” Stiles grabbed the bottle and twisted it around to point at the label, and dragged out the ‘-ey’ sound to punctuate his point. He jiggled his knee up and down nervously and tried not to look at Parrish, even though he could feel the man’s eyes practically burning a hole in his face. “And now the word whisky has lost all meaning to me,” he added after a moment, rolling the word around on his tongue and sending a queasy smile in Parrish’s direction.

There was another empty silence. Stiles let out a dramatic sigh and drank the last mouthful of spirit from his dad’s glass. His need was greater.

Parrish tipped his head back and laughed loudly at that – the sound of his laugh was contagious Stiles couldn’t help but grin. The deputy twisted minutely in his chair, and Stiles wondered whether he did it deliberately to angle his hips towards Stiles. Stiles chuckled, torn between laughing and trying not to choke on the burning in his throat from the whisky.

“Stiles,” Parrish said suddenly when his laughter had dissolved into hiccups. He leant towards Stiles and touched his fingertips to Stiles’ arm gently, and Stiles didn’t know how much whisky he’d had or what he was like drunk, but he was _fairly_ sure that Parrish was a little tipsy. Maybe even more than a little. Stiles widened his eyes in expectation, waiting for Parrish to finish his sentence. “You always seem to find something to talk about,” was all he said, and his sudden smile made Stiles snort with laughter.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s a talent.”

Parrish smirked. He didn’t pull his hand away from Stiles’ arm, even when Stiles looked down at it as though it was personally offending him.

Stiles could feel sweat sticking his t-shirt to his back uncomfortably under the heat of Parrish’s heavy-lidded gaze. His eyes seemed to be a little glazed over, the reflection of the lights glowing against the green until they looked almost yellow. Stiles’ focus dipped from Parrish’s eyes to his mouth, where his bottom lip was caught slightly by his teeth.

Stiles took a deep, shuddery breath before talking again. The air between them was heavy with tension - _sexual_ tension, his mind offered, and Stiles was pretty sure that if his inner monologue had a face it would be wiggling his eyebrows at him. “Okay, whatever point you’re trying to make -” Stiles started, gesturing towards Parrish’s general existence with an exasperated huff – “Can you, like, not? I feel threatened. In a hot way, obviously, but still.”

Parrish’s responding smile was half-way between a smirk and an innocent grin. “Who says I’m trying to make a point? I said it before, Stiles – I think you’re cute.” He paused and looked up at Stiles through his eyelashes with a soft sigh. “And I feel bad for you for having to go through high school again and hang out with seventeen year olds.” Parrish gave Stiles’ arm a pat before pulling his hand back and using it to prop up his chin, his elbow on his knee. He leaned forward to look Stiles right in the eye, and it felt as though he was staring straight into Stiles’ soul.

Stiles stared back with wide eyes and a star-struck expression – Parrish thought he was _cute_. He was still trying to process the rest of what Parrish has said, but it was so hard to concentrate when – wait. What?

His confusion must have bled out in his expression, because Parrish suddenly looked a little sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind - your dad told me you missed a few years of school because of… issues. That’s all he said. I hope I’m not prying.”

Stiles recoiled sharply, jaw hanging open and his head spinning. He tried to replay the scene in his head to make sense of what had happened, but all he could gather was that his dad had _lied_ to Parrish and told him he was older than he really was. That couldn’t be right. _Really?_ His initial instinct was to blurt out ‘but I’m not even eighteen for another two months!’ But after consideration he figured that would probably hurt his case.

“Uh,” Stiles started, trying to coerce his face into that of a person who had a clue about _what the fuck was going on_. “Right, yeah. My… issues.” Stiles cleared his throat and nodded slowly, pulling a face and swallowing like he imaged someone with ‘issues’ might upon the recollection of said ‘issues.’

Parrish’s face wasn’t exactly sympathetic, but his eyes, however glazed over from the alcohol, were warm and accepting. It urged Stiles on, encouraged him, so he took a step further and nodded with a sad expression. He could feel himself slipping into the character of ‘troubled teen’ like he was born for the role. He sniffed a little and sighed dramatically.

“Yeah. Those were some dark days.” Stiles bit his lip and nodded like he was fighting an onslaught of traumatic memories with a wince, as though his thoughts were physically paining him. He considered faking an eye-twitch, but thought maybe that was taking it too far. “Especially since I’m nearly…” Stiles trailed off and narrowed his eyes slightly, glancing tentatively over at Parrish. His mouth moved slowly, beginning to cautiously mime the word ‘twenty.’ His heart was racing. He was _so_ going to get caught out.

“Twenty one,” Parrish supplied with a nod and a sad expression. “Nearly twenty one, right?”

Stiles’ heart stuttered and he exhaled sharply with a mirror of the deputy’s nod. “Yep. Nearly twenty one. That’s me.”

Parrish smiled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Stiles’ heart stutter in his chest. “So that means I can do this,” Parrish said quietly in a voice that was deliciously husky from the drink.

Stiles’ brow furrowed in confusion, but then Parrish was leaning forward and pressing his mouth to Stiles’ lips, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ neck.

Stiles couldn’t stop his arms from flailing around in surprise before he realised what was actually happening, and then all he could think was _holy shit, Parrish’s tongue is in my mouth, oh fuck, his arms are around my neck, what the hell-_

Stiles’ brain only stopped working in overdrive when Parrish pulled away slowly to let Stiles take a shuddery breath in an attempt to fill his lungs with the air that Parrish had so _rudely_ taken away. “Yeah, you can totally do that,” Stiles insisted with a nod, voice cracking, and then, without missing a beat, he leant forward to grip the front of Parrish’s shirt to pull their faces together again.

Stiles’ lips crashed against Parrish’s and he had a sudden, manic urge to laugh as their teeth clashed from the force of their faces propelling together. He tangled his hands into Parrish’s collar and tasted whisky as he kissed him, and it wasn’t graceful or particularly _romantic_ that he’d all but faked ‘issues’ to get this far but _fuck_ , Parrish could _kiss_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun duuuuun #plottwist
> 
> hehe i left it on a cliff hanger  
> i'm laughin


	5. Stilinski Sass-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Stiles is convinced his life falls somewhere between Punk'd, The Office and Buffy.

A few moments after the initial shock Stiles received from making out with Parrish in his freakin’ _living room_ while his dad made them dinner in the kitchen, he came to the terrifying realisation that _holy crap, his dad was in the kitchen_.

“Fuck,” Stiles mumbled breathlessly as they pulled away from each other. Parrish’s cheeks were flushed and his eyelashes fluttered adorably on his cheeks as he frowned over at Stiles in confusion, trying to pull their faces together again with a gentle tug on Stiles’ sleeve. Stiles shook his head, instead attempting to smooth out Parrish’s ruffled shirt collar, but it was difficult when his hands were still shaking. Parrish’s lips were red and gorgeous, and Stiles wanted nothing more than to keep on kissing them, but he forced himself not to.

“My dad,” Stiles mumbled as way of explanation. Parrish nodded and looked a little bit sheepish as he sat back in his chair and looked over his shoulder to the door, as though expecting the sheriff to walk in wielding a gun at any moment.

Stiles mirrored Parrish’s position and tried not to hyperventilate as he relived his first kiss with a guy ever over and over in his mind. It hadn’t been like kissing Lydia that one time – but then again, he hadn’t been having a panic attack. It felt strange kissing lips that were thinner than his own, and the taste of alcohol was a polar-opposite to the taste of Lydia’s lipstick, but he couldn’t stop licking his lips as though attempting to document the memory to the exact measurements. He glanced curiously over at Parrish and did a double-take when he realised the other man was staring right at him, a little smile forming on his face.

“I can practically hear the cogs turning in your head, Stiles,” Parrish chuckled, shaking his head and leaning nearer, but not near enough to make it look as though they’d just practically crawled into each other’s laps, or anything. Stiles could hear his dad clattering around the kitchen with pots and pans.

“Yeah, I tend to do that,” Stiles said, waving his hands in the general direction of his head and pulling a face. “The whole thinking thing. I’m pretty good at it. Yeah.” He realised he was rambling on, and forced himself to _sit still, god damn it, Stiles_ \- when all of a sudden there was a gentle hand resting on Stiles’ knee that definitely didn’t belong to Stiles.

Parrish was still smiling as he stopped Stiles’ knee from jostling, but he looked a little nervous - he obviously really didn’t want to have to be the one to tell the sheriff that he _broke his son_. “Stiles,” Parrish said under his breath, voice soft like silk and only a little husky from the alcohol– “Just chill out.” He patted Stiles’ leg comfortingly once more before pulling it away. Stiles was sure the effort he had to put in to not _literally dissolve_ at Parrish’s touch must have shown on his face.

At that moment, Stiles’ dad called out from the kitchen and effectively pulled Stiles from his stupor. He was grateful for the distraction from Parrish’s soul-invading eyes and jumped into action, almost upturning the coffee table in his haste of getting away. He mumbled something about going to help his dad in Parrish’s general direction before taking off towards the kitchen hastily.

Stiles had barely passed through the doorway to the room when he started whispering to his dad, who was dishing up spaghetti on the counter. “Dad!” He hissed urgently, waving his arms around to attract his attention. “What the hell!?”

His dad’s expression didn’t change from the one of concentration as he put a spoonful of Bolognese on each plate. “Use your words, son,” he said blandly after a moment, when Stiles didn’t expand on his point.

Stiles had to take a few deep breaths to get his mouth to form the words, all the while frantically watching the door for Parrish. “Deputy Parrish,” Stiles said, trying to concentrate on the full sentence as opposed to just how the name sounded from his mouth – “Thinks that I am twenty years old.” Stiles stared incredulously at his father, who turned away to dump a pan in the sink, much to Stiles’ frustration.

There was a pause. The sheriff turned on the tap.

“Dad!” Stiles whispered desperately. “Why did you tell him that? No one in their right mind would believe that! You always say I have the mental age of a seven-year-old!” Well, Parrish had believed it. Obviously. But Stiles wasn’t about to delve into that too deeply, especially with his father. “Now, I can appreciate that you are aging - an argument could be made for geriatric - but I would appreciate it if you could remember how old your _only son_ is. For the record, the answer is seventeen.”

Stiles’ dad sighed and turned to cross his arms across his chest. He left the tap on, presumably to hide the sound of the conversation. He looked slightly awkward, and glanced guiltily over at his son before talking. “He’s twenty four,” Stiles’ dad told him firmly. He gave Stiles a meaningful look and a nod, as though that was a reasonable explanation, or, you know, actually answered _any of Stiles’ questions at all._ The sheriff headed over to pick up the plates to take them into the dining room.

Stiles was left alone by the sink with his mouth hanging open, eyes following his father incredulously. He splashed a spray of cold water onto his face before he turned the tap off, and seriously considered phoning Scott or Derek or the Ghost Busters or _someone_ , because he was nearly certain that something supernatural was going on. After a suspicious glance around the room for any hidden cameras or Ashton Kutcher or something proved fruitless, Stiles took a deep breath and followed his dad into the dining room.

His father and Parrish were already sitting down. His dad sat at the head of the small table, as usual, and Parrish had his back to the door in the seat opposite Stiles’. Stiles took the moment he was out of eyeshot to surreptitiously run a hand through his hair before he crossed the room and sat awkwardly in his chair. He felt as though all eyes were on him.

The sheriff and Parrish were talking about something to do with work, and Stiles was grateful for the distraction. He couldn’t help thinking the two of them were conspiring against him – and Stiles couldn’t even _look_ at Parrish, out of fear of doing something stupid. It was more than likely to happen if he caught a glimpse of Parrish’s stupid aquamarine eyes.

“Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner, John,” Parrish said graciously as he ate his food, and Stiles’ pointedly _didn’t_ say anything, or look up, or do anything at all other than breathe and shovel food into his mouth as fast as he could.

At least, that was what Stiles intended to do, but all of a sudden there came a sharp kick to his shin under the table. Stiles glared over at his dad with Bolognese dripping down his chin and dropped his fork onto the plate with a yelp that his father hastily covered up with a loud cough. Parrish just looked from one of them to the other, eyebrows slightly raised in confusion.

“It’s not a problem, Kyle,” Stiles’ dad said quickly, as though trying to draw the attention from where Stiles was attempting to lick off the sauce on his face.

Stiles froze as he reached out for a napkin and turned to stare at Parrish with wide eyes.

“Your name is Kyle?” Stiles asked, wonderingly why the other man looked as though he was trying not to laugh before realising that, yep, he still had tomato all over his chin. Great. He wiped it off quickly before speaking again. “Kyle Parrish?” Stiles liked how the name felt coming out of his mouth, and he rolled it around on his tongue a few more times.

Parrish – Kyle, Stiles mentally corrected himself – nodded and smiled as he chewed. Stiles made a ‘hmm’ing noise of approval, and wondered how the hell he’d managed to get to first base with the guy before knowing his name. Then again, Kyle didn’t know Stiles’ name, and he intended to keep it that way. It was better for the both of them.

They carried on eating mostly in silence, with just the occasional snippets of conversation from Kyle and his dad. A few times, the sheriff tried to include Stiles into the discussions. Stiles was still mad at his dad for not telling him what the hell was going in, so he mostly just grunted his replies and made sure his mouth was always full of food, so that he never had to say more than one-word answers.

Stiles was the first person to finish his food, and he absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the table-top and jiggled his knee up and down nervously. The conversation fell flat between them, and Stiles felt like he had no choice but to talk to fill the excruciating silence.

“So, um,” Stiles began before trailing off. He looked around the room to find something to talk about, before an idea came to him and he settled a smirk at his father. “My twenty-first birthday is coming up.” Stiles didn’t say anything more; just watched with delight as his father stiffened uncomfortably in his seat. Stiles watched with a satisfied smile as his dad took a gulp of whisky.

The sheriff cleared his throat before replying to Stiles. “What about it?” Stiles noticed that his dad flashed Kyle a quick glance as he spoke, before turning his attention back to his son.

“I’m just saying. It’s coming up,” Stiles said with a shrug. He looked over the table at Parrish and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial mock-whisper. “Dad owes me something really cool this year, since he was the one who made me finish high school even though I basically had enough credits to get into a decent college.” Stiles said with a smile and a fond theatrical eye-roll over at his dad. “Bless him – I think he just didn’t want me to fly the nest. Who would keep the fridge stocked then?” Stiles leaned across and clapped a hand on his father’s shoulder in a friendly gesture, gripping it so he couldn’t pull away like Stiles knew he wanted to. Kyle just smiled at the two of them with an unreadable expression, arms crossed on the table. “Isn’t that right, dad?”

Sheriff Stilinski sent his son the most forced smile in the history of mankind. He managed to squirm away from Stiles’ hand and turned to Kyle with a little sigh. “Stiles is still a bit bitter about being the oldest in his class by two years. But, well – you know how it is.”

Even though his dad’s face was turned away, Stiles could just about make out his dad mouth the word, ‘issues’ to Kyle. The sheriff turned to flash Stiles a sympathetic glance, which Kyle mirrored, and Stiles felt his face flush hotly.

“Alright, alright,” Stiles said loudly, glaring daggers over at his father and collecting up their plates with a little more force than necessary.  “So I had a crazy phase. Doesn’t everyone?  I’m fine now!” Stiles insisted, looking more at Kyle than his dad, and suddenly finding it very important he made sure the man didn’t _actually_ think he was mentally stunted, or anything.

Kyle looked as though he was stifling laughter, and hey – for a psychology major to laugh at someone’s issues, even if they are fictional, is sort of a dick move in Stiles’ opinion. He huffed slightly as he made his way into the kitchen.

Stiles couldn’t _believe_ his dad had sunk to his level of passive-aggressive banter, especially in front of a _guest_ \- it went against everything Stiles had been taught. He just wanted someone to tell him what the hell was going on, so he could stop being confused out of his mind. He felt like he belonged in The Office; half of the evening had been spent as though staring into an imaginary camera and willing it to save him from his excruciating existence.

Stiles could hear laughter from the dining room, and it made him paranoid – were they laughing at him? Was this part of some elaborate plan? Was the sky blue? It had been, without a doubt, the most surreal evening of his life; and he’d once spent four hours holding up an emotionally underdeveloped werewolf in ten feet of water, while an aquaphobic lizard-creature parading as lacrosse captain stalked them from the edge. Stiles had seen shit to rival Buffy Summers, but this was still the weirdest.

The laughter grew nearer, and Stiles busied himself by loading the dishwasher in an attempt to look as though he wasn’t contemplating doing a Sylvia Plath with the gas oven.

“Stiles,” John said as he came into the room. He had a hand on Kyle’s shoulder, who looked ridiculously handsome (if slightly dishevelled) in his uniform now he was standing. Stiles had been trying not to dwell too long on the uniform, since it was the same as his father’s and there were probably all sorts of Freudian meanings behind that. “Will you drive Kyle home? It’s only about ten minutes away and we’ve both had a bit to drink.” The sheriff gave Stiles a look that he assumed was supposed to be meaningful, but Stiles had no idea what it meant.

Stiles’ eyes widened and he looked between Kyle and his dad. “Uh, okay,” he said with a confused nod. He wiped his hands on his jeans and smiled awkwardly at Parrish as they made their way to the front door, where Stiles did up his laces with clumsy, shaking fingers.

Parrish shook John’s hand and smiled his thanks, but Stiles’ couldn’t get past the _stupid_ look on his dad’s face that he _still_ didn’t understand. There was definitely something going on, and Stiles was going to find out what it was if it killed him.

As Kyle climbed into the passenger seat, Stiles flashed a narrow-eyed glance over his shoulder to his father in the doorway. He formed a ‘V’ shape with his fingers and pointed at his own eyes, then twisted them round and jabbed them in the direction of his father threateningly, ‘I’m watching you,’ style. His dad just waved and closed the door, and Stiles huffed loudly.

The silence in the car when both the doors were shut was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another cliffhanger omg i'm sorry but i'm laughing too


	6. Like Sniffing Glue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sheriff would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids. (Well - that meddling kid. If we're being specific, his meddling son, Stiles.)

Stiles drummed his hands on the steering wheel. He could feel Kyle watching him and it made him restless.

Stiles’ brain went into overdrive as he killed time by adjusting his seat, the mirrors and anything else he could find that wasn’t nailed down. _Don’t look round, seriously, because you’ll get distracted by his stupid face and that’s – no, Stiles, start the engine you complete and utter-_

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

Stiles jerked into action and started the engine at the same time as turning to look at Kyle. “What? No, yeah, I’m fine,” he babbled, louder than necessary over the thrum of the engine. He smiled brightly, catching Kyle’s eyes and blushing. The man still looked slightly dishevelled. Stiles thought Kyle should keep those top buttons on his shirt undone more often, because Parrish was _clearly_ hiding a chest that would solve world hunger or something.

Stiles backed out of the drive and glanced at Kyle for confirmation before heading right. He considered turning the radio on, but he didn’t want to do anything stupid like crash the car and kill the both of them. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the road underneath the tires and each other’s breathing.

“It’s just past the station,” Kyle said, filling the silence with his ridiculously soothing voice. “Thanks again for this, Stiles,” he added after a moment, and Stiles could hear the smile in his words. When Stiles looked over, he realised that Kyle was just staring out of the front window and not watching Stiles as he had anticipated. Stiles let himself relax a little bit.

“No problem,” Stiles replied. His voice sounded reasonably casual, which pleased him – inside, he was a complete whirlwind. What the hell was up with his dad? Was Kyle going to try to kiss him again? Fuck _\- did he have garlic breath?_ Wait, no. Even if he did, Kyle had eaten the same food, so he would have it too.

It was sort of messed up how relieved that thought made Stiles.

Stiles drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and huffed out a long breath. He reminded himself that it was just a ten minute car journey, and then he could get back home. He was _so_ looking forward to interrogating his dad within an inch of his life.

The street outside the car was very nearly dark, and Stiles only managed to catch a glimpse of Kyle’s silhouette when they drove under a streetlight. His nose was adorable, and his eyelashes seemed impossibly long when he blinked. Stiles sighed and forced himself to concentrate on the road.

After a while, Stiles realised again how odd seemed that it just didn’t feel _awkward_ to sit with Kyle in silence. His overwhelmingly calming air set Stiles at ease, making the quiet feel comfortable for once.

“Are you magic?” Stiles blurted after a while of watching Kyle from the corner of his eye. “I mean, just sitting next to you is like sniffing glue or something.” Stiles tightened his grip on his steering wheel when he realised what he’d said – “Or what I’d imagine sniffing glue to be like,” he corrected quickly.

Kyle was laughing beside him, so Stiles he figured he wasn’t about to get arrested for his delinquent phase in 4th grade. “Yeah, people tell me that quite a lot,” Kyle agreed with a nod. “I don’t really know why that is. I’ve heard that I have a relaxing voice, too – maybe that’s why I got the job of reading the 50 Shades of Grey audiobook.”

Stiles spluttered out a snort and the car swerved a little in the road. “Shut up,” he said, still laughing. There was a moment of silence between them. “You’re kidding, right?”

Stiles looked over at Parrish and the man just shrugged, but Stiles could see a twinkle in his eye under the fluorescent streetlights. “Dude,” Stiles said, still chuckling. “Do you get off on trying to shock me?”

It was Kyle’s turn to blush then, pink tinges high on his perfect cheekbones. “You’re fun to tease. You do it back. I don’t get much banter unless I’m with you,” Kyle replied around a smile.

Stiles felt his chest swell with pride at that, and he had to bite his lip against a grin so he didn’t look like a complete dork. “Yeah, well. Keep getting drunk with my dad and I guess we’ll be hanging out a lot more.”

“This was just a one off.” Kyle smiled sheepishly and shook his head, as though embarrassed for letting loose when Stiles knew for a fact he had a day off tomorrow anyway. Maybe it was sort of creepy that Stiles knew that, but whatever. “I don’t want to seem unprofessional,” Kyle finished quietly.

Stiles rolled his eyes at Kyle. “You don’t have to feel bad for relaxing, man. We’re both adults.”

Stiles mentally tried to figure out the real-life age gap between them – Kyle was twenty-four, Stiles seventeen. That was seven years. Stiles shrugged internally – that wasn’t so bad. His new identity was twenty, apparently, so that was only a four year gap. For a moment he’d forgotten how fucked up everything was.

Kyle hummed in agreement before replying. “I know. But I need to make a good impression since I’m the youngest as well as the new guy.”

A knot of guilt tied in Stiles’ chest, and for a moment he wondered whether he should just admit to being seventeen – but a few seconds later they passed the station, and the thought left Stiles’ head.

“Where do we go from here?” Stiles asked as he stopped at a red light. The Jeep was making a weird noise beneath him – he hoped it wouldn’t die again before he got Kyle home.

He followed the directions Kyle gave him and a few minutes later pulled up outside a small bungalow. Stiles couldn’t really see much because there wasn’t a light on in the window or outside – but he could just about make out a stone path leading to a red front-door. “Nice place,” Stiles commented sincerely, catching a glimpse of some potted plants beside the door. He turned to Kyle and smiled widely, not sure whether to turn the engine off or not. He hoped it was too dark for Kyle to make out the way his lip twitched slightly with nervousness.

Kyle was undoing his seatbelt as he looked up at Stiles from under his eyelashes to smile back, his lower lip caught slightly between his teeth. Stiles’ heart turned in his chest, and he felt his breathing pick up for a moment before he just thought _what the hell_ and leaned over the gearstick to press his lips to Kyle’s.

For one horrible moment Kyle didn’t seem to move or return the kiss, and Stiles considered pulling away and making some stupid excuse about falling asleep for a moment, landing with their mouths pressed together, what a coincidence – but then Kyle was untangling his hands from the seatbelt to wind them around Stiles’ neck and pull his face nearer.

Even with a slight hint of garlic-breath, it was so much better than their last kiss, because Stiles didn’t have to worry about his _dad_ walking in on them. He moaned a little against Kyle’s lips and ran his fingers through the back of the man’s short hair, deliberately ruffling it up and smiling when he pulled away.

“I should go inside now,” Kyle admitted reluctantly. “Your dad will be wondering where you are.”

Stiles scoffed and pulled Kyle nearer by the collar. “I’m twenty years old; what my dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he mumbled, eyes not leaving Kyle’s wide green ones, before kissing him again. Oh, the irony.

Kyle hummed contentedly, and Stiles swore he felt it vibrate through his _whole body_. He pulled himself as close to Kyle as he could without sitting on the gearstick, nearly falling off his seat in his eagerness to just get _closer_. The engine turned into a thrum in the background, and when Stiles closed his eyes and felt Kyle’s tongue against his, he completely forgot where he was.

After a little while (it could have been two minutes or an hour – Stiles had lost all concept of time), Kyle pulled away with one last peck to Stiles’ damp lips.

“Really, I have to go,” he said apologetically. Kyle’s eyes were glazed over, glassy and huge; dilated pupils against bottle-green irises that were darkened by the half-light.

Stiles tried not to pout as he straightened up the deputy’s shirt and hair. “Okay,” he agreed with a breathless voice, before settling back down in the driver’s seat. He wondered whether he was supposed to walk Kyle to his door – he even had a grip on the handle before wimping out and deciding against it.

“See you later, Stiles,” Kyle said before jumping down from the Jeep.

“See you,” Stiles replied with a smile. The door slammed, and Stiles watched Kyle’s hips and bit down hard on his lip as his eyes followed the man down the path.

He turned to wave at Stiles one last time before the front door closed. Stiles exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. His fingers were shaking slightly against the steering wheel. He glanced at Kyle’s house, at the lights in the windows, before literally _forcing_ himself to drive home.

Stiles wondered how he was supposed to remember the way home when _that_ had just happened.

As it turned out, Stiles _couldn’t_ remember the way home, and ended up making the wrong turn at least three times before getting stuck in evening rush-hour traffic for twenty minutes. He snorted when he realised what was probably going through his dad’s mind – serves him right, Stiles decided.

He parked the Jeep and attempted to flatten his hair in the rear-view mirror. He took a moment to steady his shaking hands so it looked less as though he’d just been making out with his dad’s colleague in a parked car.

“Dad?” Stiles called out the second he got inside the house. He dumped his keys on the banisters and looked accusingly up the stairs.

When there was no reply instantly, Stiles scowled and opened his mouth to shout even louder, when all of a sudden his father appeared at the top of the stairs with a weary expression. At least he hadn’t tried to run away, Stiles thought, as he watched his dad come down with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

He followed his dad’s silent beckon to the living room, holding his chin up in an attempt to feel less like a little kid trailing after his dad in a supermarket or something.

“Alright,” Stiles said. He sat down on the sofa opposite his father’s chair and leant forward to show he meant business. “Unless some sort of ‘13 Going On 30’ voodoo has gone down without me knowing, I’m almost positive I am actually seventeen and not twenty like _some_ have been lead to believe.” Stiles waggled his eyebrows at his dad and couldn’t contain his wild hand gestures, confusion written all over his expression. “So? What’s all that about?”

Suddenly Stiles wondered if his dad would be able to tell he’d been making out with Kyle, and he cringed at the thought. He shook his head of the idea and stared at the sheriff, eyes watering with the force of not being the first to look away.

The sheriff sighed again, and Stiles glowered at him in anticipation. The suspense was excruciating, and Stiles only let himself blink once his father had started talking again.

“Deputy Parrish mentioned in passing that he doesn’t like to get involved with people who are younger than him by more than three years.” John said slowly. He looked away from the weird staring-contest Stiles had started and ran a hand over his tired face.

Stiles’ frown deepened. He opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t think of anything to ask.

Stiles’ dad sighed again, making Stiles huff. “Use your words, dad!” Stiles exclaimed, turning the sheriff’s words’ against him with a pleased smirk. His satisfaction didn’t last long.

John avoided his son’s eyes. “Kyle wouldn’t be interested in you if you were any younger than twenty, and I was worried you would try something with that train-wreck, Hale. Melissa and –“

Stiles silenced his dad with a hand in the air. “Wait, wait. You lied to your colleague about my age so he would want to date me?” Stiles’ jaw fell open in shock, before a slow smile spread across his face. “Dude, that’s so badass!” He lifted his hand for a fist-bump, which his dad just stared at until Stiles let it fall back into his lap. “What do you mean about Derek, though?” Stiles added, confused again.

John stared at Stiles as though his son was crazy. “Stiles, I know Hale is a good guy, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. I know how much you love to send me out of my mind, and that was one thing I just wouldn’t let happen.” He shook his solemnly and seriously, like he’d just told Stiles some awful, terrible news, and was worried about how he would take it.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. He scanned his dad’s face for any sign of a joke, but there was none.

He took a deep breath and bit down on his lip to hide his growing smirk. Stiles _willed_ himself to keep it together, not to lose it - but a second later he had doubled over in hysterical laugher. “Jesus, dad – are you serious?” He stammered out around undignified snorts. His dad looked baffled, and it just made Stiles laugh harder.

Stiles could feel his father’s judging eyes on him, so he stifled his snorts down to a chuckling and patted away the moisture around his eyes. He sighed and rubbed at his aching stomach muscles, sniggering.

“I wasn’t going to start dating _Derek Hale_ , dad, _God_ ,” Stiles told his father firmly. His lips quirked upwards in amusement again, but he forced himself not to keep it together. “He’s even more emotionally stunted than _me_ , not to mention the fact he insists on causing me unnecessary bodily harm – nothing serious, don’t look at me like that, he’s just a jerk. Oh, and there were those multiple occasions he swapped saliva with the freaky demon-Darach that tried to kill us, so yeah; thanks, but no thanks.”

Stiles carried on giggling under his breath. When the silence dragged out a little longer than expected, he froze. Wait – his dad had totally been molested by the English-Teacher-From-Hell’s tongue too. Stiles winced and looked at his dad sheepishly. “Too soon?” He asked.

The sheriff closed his eyes and nodded silently.

Stiles pulled a face and let out a slow whistle. “Okay,” he said, dragging out the syllables. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly.

“That’s alright, son,” his dad said with a long-suffering voice. He pinched the bridge of his nose and avoided Stiles’ eye as he shook his head, exasperated.

Stiles bit his lip and tangled his fingers together in his lap apologetically. He managed to stay silent for a whole five seconds before he opened his mouth again.

“So essentially you lied and tricked your cute young colleague into wanting to be with your underage son, all because you were worried he’d start dating an exonerated-murderer werewolf? You know, that’s actually sort of messed up, dad.”

The sheriff buried his face into his hands to muffle his mortified moan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm really pleased with this chapter!!! i hope you enjoyed it! :D 
> 
> also, i wanted to say that there is definitely no sterek in his fic! in fact, i don't plan on including derek in this story at all :) just a little disclaimer to make sure no one is disappointed by their mention/lack thereof later on! :D this is 100% stilish ^^


	7. Gratuitous Glee Quotes via Text

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Kyle exchange a series of texts and Stiles spends too much time reading cheesy pick-up lines.

Stiles couldn’t get much more out of his dad that night. John mostly just sat his with head in his hands, sighing sadly while Stiles fired abuse and ridicule at him. It didn’t often happen that the sheriff did something stupid, so Stiles made the most of it for a while he could before deciding to let him stew in his guilt and regret for a while.

But not before he forced his dad to give him Kyle’s number.

Stiles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he headed up to his room, waving his phone in the air triumphantly. “You brought this on yourself, dad!” He called down the stairs, typing out a text as he walked and nearly colliding with the wall several times in the process.

To _deputy hotdamn kyle what a qt omfg_ : Hey, this is Stiles. Got your number from my dad, hope you don’t mind.

Stiles flopped onto his bed and stopped himself from pressing send right at the last minute. He frowned at his phone screen. Was it too formal? He reread it, then reread it again. Totally too formal. He deleted the whole thing with a loud sigh and settled with an arm behind his head to type with one hand, forcing himself to concentrate.

To _deputy hotdamn kyle what a qt omfg_ : Sup dude its stiles whats crackalacking

Stiles started deleting the text even before he’d finished it. Just… No.

[10:48pm] To _deputy hotdamn kyle what a qt omfg_ : How’s your hangover coming along? This is Stiles, by the way.

Stiles wondered whether he should keep the capitals or not, but decided they made him sound more mature, and considering he was, in fact, twenty years old, he decided to keep them. He sent the text without another thought, then squeezed his eyes closed and buried his face in his pillow to muffle a loud scream.

Stiles was contemplating hurling himself out of the window seconds after the text said ‘devlivered’ - but after less than a minute, his phone vibrated on the bed next to him. It made Stiles jump, and he stared for a moment as though it had fallen from the sky before turning it over and unlocking it with shaky hands.

[10:50pm] From _deputy ‘hotdamn’ kyle parrish omfg:_ It’s coming along nicely, thanks for asking. I was considering just having another drink, but all I could find was a random Four Loko, so I settled on plain old coffee.

Stiles snorted, something tight in his chest uncoiling a little. He propped himself up on his side to text back.

[10:52pm] To _deputy hotdamn kyle what a qt omfg:_ Wow, I didn’t know you were secretly a frat boy, count boozy von drunk-a-ton.

[10:55pm] From _kyle aka count boozy von drunkaton lol:_ Maybe you should have kept the glee references until we’ve at least been on a date? I might realise you’re actually too much of a dork to spend more than 10 minutes a day with.

Stiles didn’t know what surprised him more – that Kyle had picked up on his sneaky Glee shout-out or that he was talking about a date as though that was a thing likely to happen in the near future, _oh dear god, Stiles, breathe._ Stiles was still trying to calm himself down and catch his breath when his phone vibrated in his hand again, making his heart skip a beat in his chest.

[10:55pm] From _kyle aka count boozy von drunkaton lol:_ I can picture you right now – you’re doing that thing where you open your mouth and seem surprised when no words come out, then start waving your arms around like there’s an invisible fly attacking you. It’s adorable.

Stiles blushed and bit down on his lip, flushing scarlet as he replied.

[10:59pm] To _kyle no more glee quotes god stiles:_ So that’s why you always tease me! You just think it’s cute when I blush, right? Well, whatever. That’s harassment. And no way in hell do I believe you recorded the Shades of Grey audiobooks.

Stiles bit down on his lip and typed out a second text quickly, clicking send before he could think too hard about it.

[10:59pm] To _kyle no more glee quotes god stiles:_ Also, invisible flies aren’t typically adorable. Just fyi. Your pick-up lines need work, man.

After sending the texts, Stiles suddenly feared that it was too much – he swallowed hard and pulled a pained face as he stared at his phone, like that would make it vibrate faster. He checked the time while he waited and was surprised to find it was past eleven already. He took his time getting ready for bed and when he got back he found another text from Kyle.

[11:04pm] From _kyle no more glee quotes god stiles:_ Hm, maybe you’re right. How’s this – want to go see a movie tomorrow? Maybe get dinner?

Stiles could barely contain his enthusiasm long enough to reply, his grin threatening to split his face in half.

[11:06pm] To _kyle no more glee quotes god stiles_ : That’s not a pick-up line, that’s a plain-old date invitation. A pick up line is ‘hey, my name’s Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?’ or ‘Are you a parking ticket? Cause you’ve got fine written all over you.’

[11:09pm] From _OMFG KYLE:_ I’ll take that as a yes, then.

[11:11pm] To _OMFG KYLE:_ Confident, aren’t we? It is a yes though, obviously. That sounds really fun! But you should know that I am one of those obnoxious popcorn eaters at the movies. Just a warning. Get out of jail free card, and all that.

For a moment, Stiles panicked – what if Kyle wanted to see a movie that was rated NC-17? What if he tried to order a bottle of wine at dinner and they asked to see Stiles’ ID? What if his dad turned up with a copy of his birth certificate and a banner saying ‘Congratulations! You have been fooled into dating my underage son!’?

Stiles ran a hand through his messy hair and forced himself to relax. He would just have to deal with that if and when it happened, and keep his fingers crossed that Kyle was a fan of Punk’d.

[11:14pm] From _OMFG KYLE:_ I’m sure I’ll survive. As long as the popcorn thing doesn’t extend to slurpies – those should be made illegal. I’m considering abusing my position as deputy. Meet me at 5? Outside the theatre?

Stiles’ worried frown dissolved into a goofy smile, chuckling out a laugh and eagerly replying.

[11:15pm] To _KYLE OMFG:_ I’ll be there! Looking forward to it. Oh, and I hope your legs don’t ache too much.

Stiles snickered as he waited for Kyle to reply, fingers itching with the urge to send another text.

[11:16pm] _From KYLE OMFG:_ Don’t worry; I’ll make sure I take it easy as I run through your dreams tonight.

Stiles’ jaw dropped open as he read the reply. He looked around the room for someone to be shocked with, but obviously, it was empty. “Dude stole my line,” he muttered under his breath, outraged, before dissolving into a fit of muffled laughter. God, the dude was worse than him.

Stiles’ played on his phone for a little while longer, deliberating on whether to reply or not. He eventually decided against it – he didn’t want to seem too desperate, after all. It took at least half an hour and countless attempts at getting past twelve on Flappy Bird for it to sink in - he was actually going to go on a date with Kyle tomorrow. He dropped his phone on his chest, breathing heavily - he had actually made out with the guy on not one, but _two_ separate occasions in one evening.

What was even happening to his life? Things like that didn’t happen to Stiles – especially not since his whole sacrifice-induced ‘heart of darkness’ thing. He spent most of his time feeling bone-tired and weary, as though he’d lived a thousand lives instead of his mere seventeen years. Stiles could admit to latching onto the cute new deputy as an attempt to feel normal again, and he would never have expected anything to actually _happen_.

Stiles fell asleep with his phone still beside him on the bed, and he for the first time in weeks, he didn’t dream about ice-water filling his lungs or the smell of earth as ceilings collapsed over his head. He dreamed of whisky kisses and soft, quiet words in his Jeep under a street-light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is short (sorry!) but (hopefully) sweet :)

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't I just I couldn't
> 
> Their name is STILISH  
> STILISH  
> Someone tell me who came up with that so I can personally thank them
> 
> come find me on tumblr, if you want! i'm at savesoulandpunk :)


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